The Weight of the World
by jamesandlilypotter81
Summary: AU The War is over, and life goes on. All Harry has to do is learn how to cope with everything he's dealt with…but it's not as easy as he hopes.


The Weight of the World

One year.

One year since the death, since all the oxygen in his body seemed to have gushed out, leaving him heaving for air but unable to get any. One year since a time that should have been happy for the three of them. Yet it wasn't.

He'd have thought that after everything the three of them went through, it would be a Voldemort or a measly Death Eater that would end everything. A quick spell, dodging the wrong way—something of that sort. But the war was over. Voldemort was gone, Death Eaters were sent to Azkaban, and Kingsley was rebuilding the Ministry with the help of the brightest witch of her age. The Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One—or as he preferred, just Harry—had finally felt a weight lift from his chest. A compression he had never even realized existed was gone, and the world seemed wonderful again. But then, a simple accident—only weeks after the death of Voldemort—made that weight plummet back onto his chest, leaving him breathless and knowing this time it was permanent.

Because _he_ was gone. His brother in all but blood. His first magical friend. He was gone as simple as that.

With the loss of Sirius, there was denial, shock, anger. With Dumbledore, there was a sense of helplessness, as if he suddenly had become blind. With those lost during the battle, he felt guilt. A profound guilt.

With the loss of Ron Weasley, he couldn't breathe.

Harry's first instinct after his best mate's death wasn't to bear it and keep moving. All he wanted was to lay in bed, to deal with the pain of his loss—to grieve properly. But he didn't. Instead, he ignored the pressure on his chest as best he could so that he could help Hermione, the girl who had kissed Ron in the middle of a battle. To ensure that the one person who was always by his side would not feel the breathlessness he did.

At first, however, it seemed he had underestimated his best friend. Other than a fierce desire to never visit the Weasley home again, something Harry vehemently agreed with, she went to work as usual, and she held her head high. Not once did she succumb to tears—even at nights when he would lay on the couch in her flat, waiting for her to repeat the behavior from the Horcrux hunt after Ron had left them.

But she didn't cry. She seemed normal.

Perhaps that should have been enough for him to realize something was wrong. Hermione Granger had never been afraid to show how she felt. But he didn't hear the alarm bells, and at the one-year mark, she ceased all contact with him. No owls, no visiting, and if they ran into each other, she utterly ignored him.

Harry knew what was wrong. She blamed him, and he realized he deserved it. After all, death seemed to follow him. Why would she want to have anything to do with him when he was a bad omen?

He waited exactly one month to see if she would change her mind. He sent her letters, tried to get her to talk to him, but it didn't work. So, with the weight on his chest heavier than ever, Harry left.

There was no destination in mind when he Apparated. Other than the desire to leave, he felt nothing else, and he was happily surprised to find himself at the front gates of Hogwarts. His first true home.

It was odd how quickly the Headmistress took him in. After all, summer holidays had started, and the school was empty, she reasoned. What better place for him to be if he wanted to be alone? Her only condition was that he consider actually teaching at the school once the holidays were over.

Harry walked the corridors of Hogwarts and smiled at everything he could remember. The overpass where he, Ron, and Hermione had huddled, watching as Peeves dunked ink all over Katie Bell. Or the corridor where they found Fluffy. The Great Hall. Myrtle's restroom. Hagrid's cabin. The Yule Ball…

Harry's smile faded as he remembered that day. Ron's rudeness, Hermione's beauty, his jealousy while watching Cho and Cedric. He hadn't caught on then. He hadn't realized that he would compare Cho to Hermione when on their very first date. That he'd always compare people to Hermione.

Harry sighed and continued to walk, not liking his train of thought. He hadn't exactly _lied_ to Ron the day he destroyed the locket. He did see Hermione as a sister. But it was more than that. She was the one who had helped him survive, the person that always was on his side—even if she _knew_ he was wrong. She was willing to tell him exactly what she thought, and knew when he needed sense smacked into him.

And he had lost her. Perhaps not the way he lost Ron, but in a far more painful manner. She loved Ron, he knew that. He should have been the one in the accident, not Ron. Had he died, she wouldn't be in pain, she wouldn't refuse to see any Weasleys because they just reminded her of Ron. She would be happy had Harry died rather than the person she loved.

Tears ran down his cheeks and he slumped against the stone wall, letting himself feel the pain of losing his best mate for the first time. Letting himself grieve, to wish that he had never chosen to come back after seeing Dumbledore at King's Cross…

The next several days passed in a blur for Harry. He avoided the other teachers, dining in the kitchens when he actually bothered to eat. He wandered the halls, wishing Ron had never died. That Hermione wouldn't hate him. Wishing. Hoping.

In his odd state, he didn't realize he had gone to the one place he had hoped to avoid. It was quiet, and in the very back, he could see Madame Pince shelving books, a sour look on her face. The entire place reminded him of Hermione. Of Ron teasing Hermione because of her love of books.

"Potter! Are you going to stand there all day, or will you lend a hand?" Pince snapped, her eyes on him. Harry nodded awkwardly and took the large stack of books she handed him and began to shelve, waving his wand in the direction of where the books belonged. It was wonderful. His mind was utterly concentrated on his task, and for the first time in weeks, he didn't think of Ron, of Hermione, of finally ending everything for himself. And it was because he was so blissfully unaware, that he didn't notice a bushy haired girl sitting at one of the tables, reading intently.

"Grab the books the girl's not using, would you?" Pince asked, her tone considerably softer than anything she had ever used with him before. Perhaps it was because he was helping her rather than being an irritating student…

Harry walked over to where Pince had pointed, and he rubbed his eyes as he held out a hand. "I need the ones you're done with," he said. His eyes fell on the girl the moment she spoke.

"Harry?" She had bags under her eyes, her brown hair was a mess, and it was obvious she wasn't eating—something he forced her to do when he had been around. For a moment, he had an urge to just turn away, to perhaps make her see what she had done to him. He wanted her to realize that he was broken. Yet the urge was gone rather quickly. Instead, he gave her a small nod. "Oh, Harry! No one knew where you were, the papers are going mad with the articles—" she cut herself off and stood before throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. Harry didn't return the favor as he normally would have.

Hermione noticed, because she pulled away quickly, sitting back down in her chair and looking at him with calculating eyes. He felt uncomfortable, and hundreds of thoughts he shouldn't be having flooded his head. Did she regret pushing him away? Did he look odd? Was she going to stay with him, be his friend again? Would it be possible for them to return to what they had before Ron's death? Would it?

"Your hair is too long," she said finally, looking away. Harry blinked in surprise, and ran his fingers through his hair.

"Why does that matter?"

"No one said anything?" Harry frowned at her and shook his head.

"Who would? I'm always alone." At his words, Hermione looked at him, her eyes full of tears.

"I'm a horrible person," she said. "I'm just awful, and I'm so sorry, Harry. I pushed you away and I had no good reason—" Harry was shocked to hear the exact words he had longed for. Yet, now that he had it, he felt nothing but pain for Hermione. He knelt down in front of her and took her hands in his own before cutting her off.

"You did nothing wrong. It's fine, Hermione." She looked at him as if he was mad.

"No, it's not. I lost Ron, and I just couldn't…" she stopped talking, suddenly overwhelmed by tears. Harry's heart wrenched. How he wished he had taken Ron's place!

"I'm so sorry, Hermione. It should have been me, not him," he said fervently. He was surprised when Hermione's sobs ceased and she stared at him in shock.

"How can you say something like that?" Her eyes were wide, a look an her face that was achingly familiar. She was about to smack some sense into him. "You're so ridiculous!"

"Oh, come on! You barely looked at me, Hermione. After he died, you barely looked at me." She opened and closed her mouth like a fish, and Harry nodded. "You can't deny it. I know you had fallen for him. I know you wish he was here."

"You're such an idiot. Of course I wish he was here, but I never—_never_—wish that you had taken his place." Harry stared at her for a moment, looking into her eyes and searching for the lie. He had always been able to see the lie in her eyes.

But he saw nothing.

"Then why push me away? Why ignore me?" he asked, almost desperately. Hermione bit her lip.

"Because…because you were trying to become an Auror, and there are still Death Eaters out there, and I just couldn't deal with losing you. I just can't, Harry." She had tears in her eyes again, and understanding flooded through him. Push someone away, and perhaps the pain of loss won't be as great because you were no longer close. She didn't hate him, or resent him. She was afraid of losing him.

"Hermione?" She looked at him, her eyes watery, red, and puffy. Her hair still all over the place. Harry smiled, deciding she was beautiful even now. He knew what he wanted to say. However, he had never said it to anyone before, and he was not quite sure about it. He knew what it was, but he didn't know what _kind_ it was…so he kept his voice neutral, despite the stab in his heart. "You know I love you, right?" Her eyes widened, and Harry wished he could know what she was thinking. "You're my best friend. You're the only person I'd trust with anything. So if my being an Auror bothers you, if it hurts you, then you should have told me."

"And what would you have done?" she asked, her eyes still wide.

"Whatever it takes to rest your mind. You're all I have left." Without waiting for a response, Harry pulled her into a hug, breathing deeply and actually feeling his lungs fill with air. He closed his eyes, hoping that she wouldn't push him away again. He didn't think he could handle it.

"You know how you said that you had only thought you were in love with Ginny?" She whispered in his ear. Harry braced himself. She didn't believe him. She'd go away again. But before he could pull away, refuse to listen, she continued. "I really fancied Ron. And I loved him as a friend. But I was never _in_ love with him. Just like you and Ginny."

"But you would have been in love with him eventually," he said. Hermione pulled away and gave him another calculating look.

"No, I don't think so," she said finally, her voice soft. Harry stared at her blankly, unable to understand the look on her face, not recognizing that glimmer in her eyes. He frowned, opening his mouth to speak, but Hermione continued. "So, are you going to stay at the Ministry?" she asked, breaking eye contact. Harry tightened his hold on her hand.

"McGonagall wants me to work here. I think I might." She nodded, and then a smile appeared on her face. It was bright, and one of the first he'd seen since Ron's death.

"You know I love you, too, right?" she said, her voice just as neutral as his was. Harry grinned, nodded, and was happy to find that the weight on his chest was considerably less. Maybe it would never fully go away—after all, he had lost Ron, and so many others—but with his best friend, he was sure he could tolerate it.

**Hope you liked it! **

**Also, for all those waiting for the next chapter of my Lily/James story, it's coming soon!**


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